AND NOW TO CONCLUDE THE SOAP
A ugly monstruosity of stone and concrete, Castle Dyfed stood on a crag of Welsh granite, unbroken for centuries, the traditional refuge of the Norman royal family in time of war. If anybody could storm it though, it would seem to be the six rough riders who stepped out of two Renart muscle cars. Behind their hulking shoulders general Richard de Normandie almost looked like a child. And yet his lieutenant Lovell Grant still towered over them. At over fifty the brute's hair was turning grey, his gigantic body bore the scars.
" Your old king here ?" he asked.
" We'll find soon enough. And with the French landed in Britain, God help us if he is'nt."
At the first guard post they were disarmed and searched, before the head of security came to see them. He was an old salt in perfect uniform, with neatly-trimmed sideburns and a stiff upper lip.
" Do you know where the king is ?" Richard asked curtly. Stuffy or not, the other man was obviously in such predicament as to dispense with protocol too.
" I wish I did. He left with a handful of Thug guards, though I begged him not to."
" Left ? Why?"
" He recieved an encoded letter from general Rollon, Intelligence Department."
When Richard saw the paper he jumped.
" It's a code of the North America Army !" He started to decipher, mumbling. "...Were looking everywhere... just before our eyes all along... Your son Hugues... In London... London ! You idiot, you let him go !"
" I obeyed. Unlike you."
" French forces are about to cut off the city entirely, we must catch him, overtake the escort, end this folly."
" For someone who has been openly hoping for his demise," the old suit ironized, "you now seem quite resolved to save him, from himself if needs be."
" I need him to step in and demand peace, as he did in '47. We do not have the reserve to push the French back to the sea, we must negotiate. Denounce Gaillard for a traitor and execute him, give up the continental holdings as a gesture of good faith."
" How convenient for you, thus to eliminate your avowed rival."
" How convenient for you to shirk danger and sit behind your walls. Give my men their weapons back ; we do not need the help of your Coolie Guard."
The man looked as if he had been slapped, but he grinned and let them go. Weird times and bad times made it hard to tell friend for foe, but with a million enemy troops in England killing other Normans was an ever worse bargain.
" This has Gaillard written all over it," Richard commented once they were back in the lead Renart. " I knew Rollon was in cahoots with him, the smart bastard. It was brillant thinking about the old man's lost son, only that could get him out of Dyfed. But I don't know what they plan to do with him in London. Maybe force the militia to fight to the last ? Regardless, it's stupid beyond measure. London will fall, and if they get the king in person..."
The bearded giant shifted his frame uneasily. His massive brawn and rare bathing made him a somewhat unpleasant travel companion in the cramped backseat of a Renart Sport.
"So the plan is ?"
"We get in the capital while there is still a few roads open, look for Gaillard through bombed, burning ruisn and street fighting, confront himwith your six men, grab the king and head out God knows how. An other lieutenant would try to dissuade me."
Lovell grunted. "Just be glad I come with you at all. I care not for your royal squabbles."
" You should. I am sure you are somehow linked to that Prince Roger story."
" And why is that ?"
" Because you look exactly like the prince would, had he lived to your age."
Next episode tomorrow.
The last AAR (1/5)
Kuipy (Normandy)
A ugly monstruosity of stone and concrete, Castle Dyfed stood on a crag of Welsh granite, unbroken for centuries, the traditional refuge of the Norman royal family in time of war. If anybody could storm it though, it would seem to be the six rough riders who stepped out of two Renart muscle cars. Behind their hulking shoulders general Richard de Normandie almost looked like a child. And yet his lieutenant Lovell Grant still towered over them. At over fifty the brute's hair was turning grey, his gigantic body bore the scars.
" Your old king here ?" he asked.
" We'll find soon enough. And with the French landed in Britain, God help us if he is'nt."
At the first guard post they were disarmed and searched, before the head of security came to see them. He was an old salt in perfect uniform, with neatly-trimmed sideburns and a stiff upper lip.
" Do you know where the king is ?" Richard asked curtly. Stuffy or not, the other man was obviously in such predicament as to dispense with protocol too.
" I wish I did. He left with a handful of Thug guards, though I begged him not to."
" Left ? Why?"
" He recieved an encoded letter from general Rollon, Intelligence Department."
When Richard saw the paper he jumped.
" It's a code of the North America Army !" He started to decipher, mumbling. "...Were looking everywhere... just before our eyes all along... Your son Hugues... In London... London ! You idiot, you let him go !"
" I obeyed. Unlike you."
" French forces are about to cut off the city entirely, we must catch him, overtake the escort, end this folly."
" For someone who has been openly hoping for his demise," the old suit ironized, "you now seem quite resolved to save him, from himself if needs be."
" I need him to step in and demand peace, as he did in '47. We do not have the reserve to push the French back to the sea, we must negotiate. Denounce Gaillard for a traitor and execute him, give up the continental holdings as a gesture of good faith."
" How convenient for you, thus to eliminate your avowed rival."
" How convenient for you to shirk danger and sit behind your walls. Give my men their weapons back ; we do not need the help of your Coolie Guard."
The man looked as if he had been slapped, but he grinned and let them go. Weird times and bad times made it hard to tell friend for foe, but with a million enemy troops in England killing other Normans was an ever worse bargain.
" This has Gaillard written all over it," Richard commented once they were back in the lead Renart. " I knew Rollon was in cahoots with him, the smart bastard. It was brillant thinking about the old man's lost son, only that could get him out of Dyfed. But I don't know what they plan to do with him in London. Maybe force the militia to fight to the last ? Regardless, it's stupid beyond measure. London will fall, and if they get the king in person..."
The bearded giant shifted his frame uneasily. His massive brawn and rare bathing made him a somewhat unpleasant travel companion in the cramped backseat of a Renart Sport.
"So the plan is ?"
"We get in the capital while there is still a few roads open, look for Gaillard through bombed, burning ruisn and street fighting, confront himwith your six men, grab the king and head out God knows how. An other lieutenant would try to dissuade me."
Lovell grunted. "Just be glad I come with you at all. I care not for your royal squabbles."
" You should. I am sure you are somehow linked to that Prince Roger story."
" And why is that ?"
" Because you look exactly like the prince would, had he lived to your age."
Next episode tomorrow.
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